Fading letters on the lips of the moon (Marcella Boccia)
The moon, pale as a forgotten dream,
whispers to the night in fading letters,
carved upon its lips in silver strokes,
a language only the stars can understand.
Each word drifts, like a forgotten prayer,
carried away by the silence between breaths,
and in the stillness, I hear you,
not in the shapes of letters,
but in the spaces they leave behind.
Oh, love, our names were once written
in the light of that moon,
but now they fade,
like ink dissolved in the tide of time,
and yet, the echo of your voice lingers
in the soft curves of the moon’s pale face.
The wind does not remember our touch,
the earth cannot hold our footsteps,
but the moon still cradles our whispers,
and the fading letters we spoke to each other
are etched upon the sky
as if time itself could not erase them. In the quiet of the night,
I reach for you in the dark,
my hands tracing the words the moon forgets to say—
and in that silence,
I find you again,
not in the fading letters,
but in the love they leave behind,
written on the lips of the moon.
